


you, soft and only

by coronergrey



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Domestic Bliss, Fluff and Smut, Frightening Wildlife with Sex Noises, M/M, PWP, Plum Ginger Muffins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-26
Updated: 2017-09-26
Packaged: 2019-01-05 16:00:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12193086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coronergrey/pseuds/coronergrey
Summary: “We have some time to ourselves.” Ed gets up, seeking to curry Oswald’s favor with an offering. He fills two copper mugs with coffee and adds a lump of sugar to his own, two lumps and a dash of cream to the other. “And I’d like to enjoy it, so rise and shine.”‘Rise and shine’ usually works on Oswald. It works this morning. (He would never admit it, but it’s because it makes him feel like a little sun, glowing and flaring for the pleasure of Ed’s orbit.)





	you, soft and only

**Author's Note:**

> originally for day 3: domestic of nygmobblepot week but i have not gotten anything done on time in my whole life. B) this is kind of a mess but i wanted it up here so it stops haunting my WIP folder.
> 
> can be read as a future fic or an AU where happiness is not a bitter joke for these two. unbeta'd.

Ed _always_ wakes up first. He slips out of bed like a wraith, incorporeal before the first pale sunbeams touch his sheets. He puts on the coffee. Its percolation joins the soundtrack of the morning, cooing birds and his bare feet sticking to the hardwood.

Then he sinks back into the sheets, long limbs caging a motionless lump swathed in his favorite green quilt. The only evidence of a Cobblepot in the house is the inky plumage of his hair smushed into the pillow.

Ed ducks his head to nuzzle the lump where Oswald’s shoulder should be, blindly feeling along his side and back with lazy affection. “What flies without wings?” 

A hand flails out from the maw of tangled blankets. “My fists, if you don’t get _off_ me.”

Oswald’s voice cracks and quavers this early, but his tone is steely enough to convince Ed to roll over. 

“I told you to stop waking me up with riddles.” Finally, Oswald levers himself up into a sitting position. He always treats mornings like some great foe, to be trudged over like a battlefield.

“Time. Is the answer. In case you were curious.”

“Wasn’t.”

“We have some _time_ to ourselves.” Ed gets up, seeking to curry Oswald’s favor with an offering. He fills two copper mugs with coffee and adds a lump of sugar to his own, two lumps and a dash of cream to the other. “And I’d like to enjoy it, so rise and shine.”

‘Rise and shine’ usually works on Oswald. It works this morning. (He would never admit it, but it’s because it makes him feel like a little sun, glowing and flaring for the pleasure of Ed’s orbit.)

The early hours, shared like this, are lovers to memory. Oswald closes his eyes against the onslaught of recollection. Ticker tape images of years ago. Black, choking coastlines and the chill of a dozen switchblades melt slowly to chandeliers and Ed’s splitting, manic smile, the one that always makes his pulse jump. Those memories conduct him to ones of last night, Ed’s legs clamped around his sides, long neck bared and slick hands raking over Oswald’s back. He drinks deeply from his mug and scalds his throat, cheeks blooming pink.

Ed is staring. Oswald’s palms are red in the light. His face is scrubbed bare and his freckles smattered like pinpricks of buckskin. His collarbones are sharp beneath the sleep shirt hanging off his frame.

“I’m awake,” he grouses, pretending as if he’s anything but delighted by Ed’s attention. As if he isn’t soaking in every detail just as keenly. The full curve of Ed’s mouth, tugging helplessly up at one corner. The disarray of his tawny hair and his white undershirt wrinkled by Oswald’s cold hands wandering below the hem in the middle of the night.

“I noticed.” Ed settles closer, long fingers closed comfortably around the body of his coffee cup. He lets Oswald lean into him.

The silence is pristine, crystalline on Oswald’s tongue. His eyes slip shut.

One of Ed’s arms snakes around his waist and lips press softly suggesting behind his ear. Oswald sighs, eyes rolling behind his lids. “Is _that_ what you woke me up for?”

Ed just pulls him a little closer, warmth seeping in through his touch. An unspoken kind of courtship between them: Oswald loves to be seduced, to be pried open with searing kisses, even when just hours ago he was electric and shameless. Ed loves morning sex, and indulging Oswald.

Fingertips hook under the shoulder of Oswald’s sleep shirt, drifting down to the marbled blue buttons and undoing them one by one. “I’ll be gentle.”

The words are lightning in a bottle. A shiver jumps down Oswald’s spine, eyes closing tighter.

“Then perhaps you should take my coffee.”

Ed’s laughter puffs warm against his jaw. “Perhaps I should.” Deft fingers pluck the mug from Oswald’s hands and set it aside. 

“I haven’t brushed my teeth,” Oswald protests again, though it hiccups into breathiness when Ed smooths kisses down the column of his throat. 

“You’ll just taste like coffee, anyway.” Ed’s hands fan out and push Oswald’s unbuttoned shirt off his shoulders, palms skimming his skin so softly it makes him grip the sheets to stay quiet.

Ed’s fingers, sinking into the flesh between his chest and neck, are not soft. They’re nearly bruising, and Oswald gasps, arching into it despite himself. Ed slots their mouths together, coaxing all the breath from his lungs with a slick tongue that glances against his palate and makes him whimper. Ed kisses him filthily, and Oswald responds despite himself, panting sweetly into the quiet.

A hand dips between his knees and snaps him out of it. He squeezes his thighs shut and shoves Ed back abruptly, cheeks burning.

Ed searches his face, worried. His lips are pink and wet.

Oswald swallows, looking pointedly at the sheets. “You said you’d be gentle.”

The softness that mutes Ed’s concern is so apologetic it makes Oswald feel at fault. “Yes, I did. I’m sorry. Let me do it right.” 

“Please,” Oswald says. 

Ed resolves to have him begging for something else entirely. “Come here.”

Oswald allows himself to be drawn into Ed’s lap, bare back pressed against his chest and Ed’s chin on his shoulder. Ed kisses him again, and this time, it’s exactly what he wants. Their noses bump. He can feel Ed smiling, cupping his jaw like Oswald will spill away if he isn’t careful enough.

They card hands through each other’s hair, Oswald’s touch halting, blunt fingernails dragging up the nape of Ed’s neck to make him shiver. Ed works to exacerbate his bedhead, fluffing it this way and that until he’s rewarded by Oswald parting his lips. 

Ed tries to unfasten the drawstring on Oswald’s pants, but his wrist is caught uncertainly. It’s not that Oswald is _shy_ , but something about making Ed work for it is profoundly heady, filling him with an anxious excitement that bubbles up through him like a glass of champagne. 

“No need to be nervous.” Ed says. His hand is quite convincing, running up the inside of Oswald’s thigh and stroking him through cotton until he’s squirming. “All I ever want is to see you, Oswald. Daybreak, high noon, nightfall. I want all of it. How can I prove that a single inch of you is enough to drive me into a frenzy?”

At that, Oswald must kiss him. He twists around and holds Ed’s face with both hands, but Ed uses his new leverage to flip Oswald unceremoniously onto his back and yank his pajama pants off so quickly it disorients him.

“What?” He digs his heels into the bed and starts to cover himself, annoyed that Ed isn’t playing by the unspoken rules. Ed fast pins him down with an arm across his stomach.

“Oswald.” Ed’s breath is heavy on his hip. Oswald fixes his gaze on the ceiling stubbornly. “Look at me.”

Against his own frustrated judgment, he does. Ed’s face is insufferably smug, but his eyes are bright and earnest, like he’s trying not to laugh. 

“I promise,” Ed says, voice a stage-whisper, conspiratorial and dangerous, “I’ll be _so_ gentle with you.”

He licks Oswald root to tip. Oswald moans so loudly his voice breaks.

One hand is used to anchor himself to the bed and the other gathers a fistful of Ed’s hair, just to feel it. He squeezes his eyes shut but he can hear himself panting, the slick noise of Ed sinking down his shaft making his toes curl so hard they almost cramp. Ed is making maddeningly good on his promise, sucking him so slow he becomes an exposed nerve, but the arm snug over his stomach prevents him from thrusting up. 

“Oh God.” Oswald breathes into the cool morning air, suddenly so overheated he feels like combustion is an inevitability. “Oh _God,_ Ed.”

Yes, Ed supposes, pinching Oswald’s nipple to make him thrash, we are synonymous. He hasn’t torn his gaze once from Oswald, drinking in his slack jaw, his rumpled hair, his eyebrows knitting together like he has to concentrate to not completely fall apart. His hand abandons the sheets and bangs against the headboard in a frantic search for something to hold fast. Both hands end up in Ed’s hair, more kneading than tugging, not doing anything to force himself deeper or faster.

Ed pulls off with a little cough for dramatic effect. It makes Oswald peer down at him, cock jerking when he sees Ed’s chin shiny with spit, eyes blown dark and lips swollen. The noise he makes is somewhere between mortified and hopelessly aroused, head falling back against the pillows, arm thrown over his face.

“I’m feeling appropriately beguiled. If you wanted to take advantage of that.” Oswald stumbles over the words, tipsy with pleasure. He barely registers Ed sitting up and fussing with the lube until Ed is lying beside him, spreading Oswald’s legs apart and stroking over his hole with two fingers. Oswald stretches out and pulls Ed close enough to kiss, hands roaming over newly bared skin, hot against his palms. He’s not sure when Ed had the time to undress, but he won’t punish efficiency. “Go ahead. Not too rough.”

“I would never.”

“You do, often.” Right now, though, Ed is perfect. He stretches Oswald with strokes of his fingers that graze every little spot inside that’s wired to his cock, making him flinch and tremble and clutch at Ed’s shoulders.

“Ed, that’s––oh, that’s enough. Please, I’m ready.” He tips his head back and looks at Ed from under his lashes, knowing just as well what buttons to push to get him to settle hastily between Oswald’s legs.

Ed thrusts in, splitting him open slowly, savoring their shared gasp. He lifts Oswald’s good leg over his waist and slides in a little deeper. He’s still sore from last night, a twinge in the backs of his thighs and his calves that burns sweetly.

It doesn’t last long. Ed strokes Oswald with a dripping fist until he comes, ruining the sheets and crying out sharply enough to startle a bird from their outside windowsill. Pliant and affectionate, Oswald lets Ed thrust as hard and messy as he likes, goading him on with a furtively whispered stream of filth that makes Ed blush (and sweat and curse), until he’s going still, a fine tremor darting down his spine at the release. Oswald kisses him through it, swallowing his moans and smoothing the aftershocks with his gentle hands. 

Ed rolls off him before Oswald can start to complain. The rise and fall of their chests sync up, both sneaking fond glances at each other as if that’s more intimate than the act itself.

Once he’s cool enough to bear it, Oswald begins to swaddle himself in blankets again. Ed blanches. “What are you doing?”

“I’m going back to sleep.” Oswald’s eyes dare him to challenge this decision.

“I’m about to make breakfast, and those sheets need to be in the laundry, and, ah…” Ed trails off as Oswald leans forward and kisses the tip of his long nose.

“ _So,_ wake me up when breakfast is ready.”

It’s hard to argue with Oswald when he’s more quilt than man. “Fine.”

“I’m rather devoted to those plum ginger muffins you made the other day, if we have any ginger left.” His voice becomes more and more muffled as he subsides drowsily into his cocoon.

Ed is pretty sure they have some ginger left. He realizes with a jolt that if they didn't, he'd sneak out to the store. When did Oswald wrap Ed around his little finger so ruthlessly?

"Anything you like," he says, though he's sure Oswald, breath deep and even and endearingly nasal, doesn't hear him.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! <3 comments/criticism are always appreciated. title from 'just like heaven' by the cure.
> 
>  
> 
> [tumblr](coronergrey.tumblr.com)


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